Page 8 of Nuts

She slumped into her chair as if she’d just finished running a 10k. With her eyes fixed on mine, she blinked a few times and then swallowed heavily. “Okay.”

I raised my beer, downed it in one gulp, and tossed $20 on the table. Stuffing her full of nine inches of biker cock wouldn’t satisfy me, but it would break up the day to day monotony of my life. Teaching her a few things about what her sexual desires were, however, would undoubtedly entertain the absolute fuck out of me for much more than one night.

I stood, reached toward her uniform, and tapped the tip of my finger against her nametag. “If you don’t want people to know your name, don’t wear a nametag.”

Then, I turned and walked away.

Chapter Three

Joey

I tugged against the tail of my shirt, and then pulled up on the collar. Despite my attempts to hide my cleavage, my boobs seemed to boil out the top of my issued uniform. Wearing the tailored Harley-Davidson button-down shirt was a far cry from how I normally dressed, but it was a requirement of the job. The shirt needed a few more buttons to be appropriate, but in the eyes of the dealership, the revealing nature of the garment was attractive.

An older man with a well-established full beard and a broad chest walked through the dealership as if he were on a mission. It was easy to tell the men who were dreaming of owning a Harley from the men who already owned one. The dreamers gawked at each of the bikes on display, taking time to admire the different details of each one, where the owners typically walked directly to what it was they wanted.

I gave up on adjusting my shirt, and watched him as he walked straight to where I stood. He glanced at me, paused to ogle my tits for a split-second, and then looked at Blane. No differently than most of the parts counter patrons, he wanted to gawk at me, but preferred to talk to someone else.

My coworker was a 19-year-old wannabe biker. He was hired because he was the son of a motorcycle salesman, and probably because he bought a Harley right out of high school. His desire to learn the business was nil, and he had a shitty the world owes me attitude.

I was sure I was hired in part because I had nice tits, a curvy butt, and a great smile, but I hoped at least some of the reason was because I loved Harley-Davidsons. Nevertheless, I was a good salesperson, and I knew it.

For the time being, it was only the two of us working, as the manager had a fractured vertebra from a swimming pool accident that I guessed was alcohol induced.

The man with the beard stepped in front of Blane, pressed his massive forearms against the edge of the counter, and leaned forward. “Need a set of tank emblems.”

He shook the computer’s mouse back and forth while he gazed at the monitor. “What year, and what model?”

“2002 Heritage Softie,” the man said. “But I want old-school Panhead emblems.”

“Panhead emblems?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

The Panhead was an engine that Harley manufactured from 1948 through 1965. The motorcycles manufactured through that era were simply referred to as Panheads. I doubted that Blane knew what the man was talking about.

I watched as he scrolled through the catalog, obviously completely lost as to what it was he was looking for. Strangely, I had looked for the exact same emblem a few weeks prior. From what little research I had done, fitting the old-school emblem on a newer model’s tank was a common modification, and gave a new bike an old-school nostalgic look.

I grabbed my computer’s mouse and cleared my throat. “The type that look like they have a four-pointed star in the center of a circle?”

He shot me a look of surprise. “That’s the one.”

I glanced at my monitor, clicked through a few pages, and quickly found the part.

“61776-61T,” I said. “Fuel tank Nameplate 1961-1962.”

He looked at me and grinned. “Are they available?”

I turned the monitor to face him. He looked at the photo of the part and nodded. “That’s it.”

“They’re not in stock, but we can have it tomorrow from LA for $48.95. That’s a pair, one for each side. It includes the mounting kit, which you’ll need to screw the emblem to. If you want to wait a few more days, we can sell it for $43.06 and get it from the factory.”

“I’ll take it tomorrow. Five bucks isn’t going to kill me”

“Special order has to be paid in advance. You okay with that?”

He reached for his wallet, pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, and tossed it on the counter. “Yep.”

“Second guy in the last month to buy a set of those.”